


The God of Light

by LavenderSuspenders



Category: Anthem - Ayn Rand
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderSuspenders/pseuds/LavenderSuspenders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prometheus (Equality 7-2521) returns to the city to liberate his dearest friend, International 4-8818.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The God of Light

Deep in the night, when the brothers of the city slept, I crept alone into the Home of the Sweepers. There were no guards, for none dared to dream of waking, much less walking. From the neat rows of beds, ten by ten, I picked out the familiar form of International 4-8818. He slept fitfully: eyes fluttered under closed lids, though his body lay stock-still, as did all others in the hall. I prodded his shoulder gently. His eyes flew open and his body snapped forward automatically, just as it had for each morning for twenty-one years. The dullness of sleep left his eyes at once as they met mine. Immediately the former spark of understanding was rekindled between us. “Come,” I whispered. He nodded unquestioningly and followed me on silent feet into the night.

Neither he nor I spoke a word until I led him to the edge of the forest. “So it is true,” he whispered, eyes wide in wonder and fear. “You are living in the forest as a beast.”

“No,” I told him, “not as a beast.” I led him to the clearing in the forest that sheltered my camp, deep and dark enough to hide the flames of my fires from the eyes of the city. I struck a fire, and in the silence International 4-8818 and I gathered wood to feed it. Once the flames rose high enough to ward off the approaching winter chill, I spread my cloak beside it and motioned for him to do the same. He sat cross-legged, with tension coiled in his limbs as I had never seen in him. He looked thinner but bore his frame heavier than the light, laughing young man I had left behind. “What troubles you?” I asked. He said nothing for a moment, then spoke carefully, haltingly.

“We wish no longer to be your brother.” Immediately the words seem to sour in his mouth, which turned into a thoughtful scowl. I smiled.

“The word you seek is ‘I,’” I told him. “It means oneself, alone, and only.”

“I,” he repeated, rolling the word experimentally across his tongue. I watched with delight as he found he liked the feel of it. He turned from the fire to look me full in the face, flames dancing in his eyes. “I am no longer your brother,” he said, proud and fiercely joyful as I had never seen him. In that moment, I realized what had been between us before, the spark that had intrigued and frightened us both so that we never fed it. Beyond the smothering air of the city, it grew hungrily inside us.

“No,” I said, “nor am I your brother. But I am yours.”

“I am yours also,” he whispered.

“You should no longer be called International 4-8818. I shall call you Apollo, after the god of light and music and laughter.”

“A god?” he breathed incredulously.

“For you are a god. The god of yourself. And you should worship no other, nor bow to another’s will.” The newly christened Apollo’s giddy grin grew wider still.

“And what are you called, my friend?”

“Prometheus, bringer of light to the world.” The fire behind his eyes was roaring then, reaching out to me. I took his hands in mine. His lean muscles tensed under the unfamiliar touch: the brothers of the city were not permitted to touch one another for comfort or for joy.

“What else have I been missing?” he asked. I found I could not tell him of it all. My mastery of language was not yet advanced enough to summarize my thoughts or feelings so easily. I thought it better to show him. I pulled him close and pressed my lips into his, as if I could impart all the wonders of the world by this action alone. I felt a shiver of pleasure run through him, and his arms melted around me.

**Author's Note:**

> The last chapter of Anthem gives a pretty clear direction for the story to continue, so I took it and ran with it. Prometheus and Apollo's relationship isn't meant to refute or detract from the importance of that of Gaea and Prometheus. Given that their society doesn't have a concept of monoamory (or of romance at all, really), I think they'd be fine with polyamory.


End file.
